by jphilo | May 6, 2014 | Top Ten Tuesday
Mother’s Day is almost here, so I’m being pro-active on behalf of my family. Instead of letting them fret and stew about what to get Mommy Dearest on the big day, they can check this wish list for a suitable gift. I know, my thoughtfulness is a marvel to endure behold.
10. A swimming pool. But only if it comes with a pool guy to do the upkeep. Because the man of steel says a pool is perfectly fine, but he won’t take care of it.
9. An orchard of fruit trees. Starting with cherry, then plum, pear, apricot, and peach. (I actually am getting a cherry tree, or this would be in the number 1 spot. But in case anyone needs my preferred orchard progression in future years, here it is.)
8. A fancy espresso maker. With a barista to operate and maintain it. Because when I make fancy coffee drinks, they never taste quite right. And because I’m death to small appliances.
7. A gift card to Burgie’s Coffee House is a more than acceptable substitute for #8.
6. A day in which my help is not required to make any decisions, solve any problems, or schedule anything for anyone.
5. A month-long vacation to visit Civil War battlefields.
4. Our kids, their spouses, and the man of steel watching Support Your Local Sheriff together and laughing ourselves silly.
3. To hold our babies again and watch their faces light up when their Grandma Elsie and Grandma Dorothy come through the door.
2. Years of hugs from our grandson and a lifetime to read stories together.
1. To live near our children’s families and be involved in their lives.
What’s on your Mother’s Day Wish List? Leave a comment in the box.
by jphilo | May 5, 2014 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
The man of steel’s been hard at work on his latest renovation project. He’s re-siding the garage and repairing the brick fireplace built on it’s north side. In the process, we think he uncovered a little local history.
For those of you who don’t know, our road is the last original bit of the pre-Civil War stage coach road that ran from Fort Dodge to Des Moines. The house up the road was a stage coach stop. Legend has it that John Brown, the abolitionist and rabble-rouser, traveled along this road. Civil War recruits from Fort Dodge followed it on their way to Keokuk where they joined the troops.
Since the oldest part of our house (solid-as-a-rock timber frame) was constructed in the 1840s, it had a front row seat as our national history unfolded. It saw–and still bears–some local history, too. Our dining room sub floor is made of solid oak planks, cut from native trees, so hard an industrial sander couldn’t make a dent in them. Timber frame beams, also of native lumber milled long ago, stretch from the basement to the second floor.
Last week, the man of steel discovered huge, horizontal wooden planks of rough cut lumber beneath the old garage siding. Each plank was at least 16 inches wide. Others measured 18 or 20 inches. Recently, our neighbor who lives in the house that was once a stage coach stop said there used to be a saw mill on her land and the lumber it produced was used in construction projects in the area.
Most likely, the man of steel thinks, these boards came from that mill. So before he covered them up again with tar paper and plywood and siding, I snapped a few pictures to share with you. It could be decades or even centuries before these old boards see the light of day again.
I wonder what other bits of history are hidden on this tiny stretch of gravel we are blessed to call home? There’s a book waiting to be written, for sure. Now if I can just live long enough to give it a whirl!
by jphilo | Dec 4, 2012 | Top Ten Tuesday
After hearing one marvelous review after another–one of which was by Mom–of Steven Spielberg’s new movie Lincoln, Hiram and I went to it over the weekend. It was every bit as wonderful as the critics, and Mom, said. Later, my inner movie/history buff created this top ten list:
10. The combination of politics and name-calling is nothing new.
9. Neither is the combination of dirty business and politics.
8. Thankfully, the chambers of Congress and spittoons no longer go together.
7. Lincoln is the poster child of self-education through reading.
6. How interesting that the poor and oppressed thanked God when the amendment abolishing slavery passed, but those in power congratulated themselves and one another.
5. The Civil War was an unspeakable tragedy and a great evil.
4. Slavery was an even greater evil.
3. Sally Fields‘ acting never ceases to amaze.
2. Daniel Day Lewis is a phenomenal actor.
1. If you feel like crying at the end of the movie, go ahead. Lincoln was a simple and complex man who sacrificed and died for our young country. His life and death are worthy of our tears.
Have you seen Lincoln yet? What did you think of it? Leave a comment!
photo credit: stock exchange
by jphilo | May 28, 2012 | Family
Camp Dorothy opened for business on Sunday which means Mom and I are painting the town red. We’re having so much fun, what with hot Uno games, Judge Judy and Wheel of Fortune, drives around town, reading library books, and decorating family graves, time is short for blogging. So today’s post is something I wrote after a Memorial Day several years ago, when Mom still lived in her own home. Every time I read it, it makes me smile.
You Have To Stop Somewhere
Hats pulled down and coats buttoned up, gloves hard at work my mother, sister and I shivered all the way to from where we live in Boone to my father’s hometown of Nevada.
“More like March than May 12,” Mom commented as we pulled into the grand, old cemetery, its lush grass surrounded by stone walls. The huge shade trees creaked and swayed.
“It’s a blessing that Gladys and Ginny aren’t here,” Mom added. “This wind would have blown them away.”
My sister and I knew it was true, but we missed our ancient great-aunts. Gladys and Ginny, ages 102 and 96 respectively died last year within months of one another. For decades, the responsibility of decorating the family graves had rested on their thin, stooping shoulders and they bore the weight well. My mother often drove to Nevada on a warm May day, tucking the tiny great-aunts in her car amidst the boxes of artificial flowers.
“We’ll decorate and then go to Dairy Queen for a treat,” my mother, Dorothy, promised.
“Let’s go to Mama and Papa’s graves first.” Love saturated Gladys’s high, cracking voice. “Mama made the best bread.”
“The very best. She was such a good mama,” Ginny agreed, the memory of her parents dead now for eighty years, fresh upon her face.
Mom eased them out of the car. “Next, let’s do Grandma and Grandpa’s,” Ginny suggested.
“Grandpa was in the Civil War, Dorothy, did you know that?” Gladys asked my mother.
“He was such a nice man. He always had time for us,” Ginny added. “Oh, Gladys, don’t forget Aunt Lettie. She died so young, such a tragedy.”
As kids we heard of Lettie’s early end whenever we held sharp objects. “She was running with scissors and stabbed herself in the eye. Then she developed an eye infection and died.” I always walked when carrying scissors.
Slowly they moved from grave to grave. All three decorated their husbands’ graves. Then, Gladys paused at her infant son’s headstone, and Ginny where her soldier son, one of the first killed in the Korean War, lay beneath his veteran’s marker. They stopped to visit my grandparents and mourn again the early loss of their sister, my Grandmother Fern, after her long battle with colon cancer. They tucked flowers around the headstones of brothers Guy and Lee and Lee’s wife Stena. At one final stop, they left a bouquet for their oldest brother, Willie, who left farming because of a nervous condition. “He was so nervous he couldn’t keep the rows straight when he plowed,” Ginny explained.
“So he became a barber instead,” Gladys added. “We’re ready for Dairy Queen now.” They hobbled toward the car.
“What about Roy?” Mom pointed to the resting place of their other brother Roy. He died in the swine flu epidemic of 1918 before he could take over the farm after Papa passed on and left the sainted Mama with young daughters to raise. Roy’s death forced the aunts, orphaned teenagers, off the farm and into the homes of relatives.
“Hmmph.” Ginny sniffed.
“You’ve got to stop somewhere,” Gladys announced, and the sisters continued their feeble march to the car.
“Will we decorate Roy’s grave?” I asked my sister as we headed toward the family plot.
“Of course we will. It’s time to let go of old grudges, don’t ya think?”
We stopped in front of his grave and helped our mother out of the car into the wind and cold of our May morning. We planted silk flowers in front of his headstone, maybe a few extra to wipe out any former neglect. “We forgive you, Roy,” my sister said.
We decorated every family grave we could find and lingered at Gladys and Ginny’s. Clear as a bell, I heard a high, cracking voice, “Jolene, you have to stop somewhere.” Tears filled my eyes, and I smiled with joy and sadness. “Not yet, Aunt Gladys, not quite yet.” I replied as the cold May wind settled the comfortable weight of their family memories upon our shoulders. “See you again, next year,” I whispered and walked slowly to the car
by jphilo | Jan 27, 2012 | Current Events, Reflections on the Past
Yesterday morning, my first thought was not, “Today, I’m gonna feel old.” But thanks to the Girl Scouts – yes, those cute little cookie peddlers who sell sugar highs in a box – for the first time ever, I am feeling a wee bit ancient.
Not just old. Ancient.
The realization was gradual, increasing the longer I listened to Talk of Iowa on the radio. The topic was the 100th Anniversary of Girl Scouts, and the host interviewed some Girl Scout leaders and a couple honest-to-goodness present day Girl Scouts. The girls were about the same age I was during my short career as cookie salesgirl and sash wearer.
And they made me feel not just old. But ancient.
It wasn’t their fault. But, while they talked, I thought about how 1912 was a century ago for the little girls. Just like 1865 was a hundred years ago when I attended Girl Scout meetings after school in 1965. So if and when they watch a show like Downton Abbey, the events portrayed there are as long ago and far away to them as the events chronicled in Gone With the Wind were to me.
And that’s when I started feeling not just old. But ancient.
Not because the Civil War seemed like a long time ago when I was a Girl Scout. And not because 1912 is a long time ago to the girls in the radio interview. And not because 1912 didn’t seem like such a long time ago in my GS days. But because the Civil War probably didn’t seem like such a long time ago to fifty-five-year-old adults in my GS days, but I thought those people were old.
But they didn’t seem just old. They seemed ancient.
Which is how today’s Girl Scouts view everybody old enough to tuck an AARP membership card next to the packet of Metamucil in their wallets, old enough to wear sensible shoes, sport age spots, and wear pants with elastic waistbands.
They view us as not just old. But ancient.
Oh my, the depression is coming on thick and fast. I think there’s only one way to fight this thing. I’m gonna find a Girl Scout, buy a box of Thin Mints, and snarf down the whole box. After all, my mom says old people like me have earned the right to eat whatever they want. And she ought to know.
‘Cause she’s not just old. She’s ancient.
